


Red Right Ankle

by lady_mab



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Not Quite Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of your red right ankle <br/>And how it came to meet your leg <br/>And how the muscle bone and sinews tangled <br/>And how the skin was softly shed <br/>And how it whispered, <br/>"Oh, adhere to me for we are bound by symmetry <br/>And whatever differences our lives have been <br/>We together make a limb"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the Story...

He caught her as she fell. 

Of course, it sounds far more poetic than it actually was. A woman's skirts are more problematic than they have any reason to be, and Leonie's proved no exception as she tried to scale the stone wall. She had reached the top successfully enough, but as she was swinging her leg over to start the climb down, her boot caught on to one of the petticoats and failed to catch hold on the stones. She lost her balance and fell – ripping her petticoat along the way. 

As she felt herself tip over the edge of the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut and vowed not to scream because it was undignified and the wall was hardly six feet with a grassy knoll on either side (nothing that could kill her).

But she hadn't landed on the grass. Instead, she felt a pair of not-too-strong arms wrap themselves around her, and an undignified grunt as her rescuer struggled to catch her weight without dropping her. 

Leonie kept her eyes squeezed shut. There was something quite familiar about the way this man (it was certainly a man) smelled. She hadn't heard more past the initial grunt, but the smell was more than enough to go on. 

“Miss Barrow, how is it that I continue to run into you when I have no possible hope of escaping?” 

Her eyes finally snapped open, and she tilted her head back slightly to get a good look at the man who had caught her: “Johannes Cabal.” She was not pleased that her voice was breathy with surprise, despite her attempt at trying to sound like she expected him this whole time. “What are you doing here?”

“You are trying to trespass onto my property. I couldn't let the garden eat you, as tempted as I was.” He looked and sounded about as pleased as she was, kneeling on one knee with a lady in his arms and something that sounded suspiciously like a growling bush not but two feet away. “So I shall ask you: What are _you_ doing here?” 

Leonie struggled to her feet, smoothing her skirts and trying to ignore the torn corner of the petticoat that peeked out at the hem. “I am traveling. I'm staying in the town for the night, and decided to take a walk.” She narrowed her eyes, watching him as he rose to his feet as well and dusted the grass and mud off of his knee. “Did you _run_ to catch me?” 

He looked up, surprise masked behind the smoked-blue glasses. She hadn't noticed the faint flush on his cheeks and that his hair was a bit out of place and how his shoes were untied until then. “I told you, the garden was quite prepared to eat you.” Johannes straightened his jacket and smoothed a hand back over his hair, as if he had noticed her gaze. “They could tell that you were someone I had met on more than one occasion. So they told me before the bush could get to you.” 

She looked down at the bush, noting that it had gotten just a bit closer and the growl turned deeper. She didn't want to know who 'they' were.

“Come,” he said. “You need to leave and I need to get back to my experiments. It will do us no good standing here.” With that, Cabal turned his back on her and started to stalk back towards the house that rested atop the hill. 

Leonie wondered how she had not managed to see it before she decided to climb the wall. But there was something far more pressing than getting out of his life once again, and she'd be damned if she didn't scold him for it. “I thought you were dead,” she called after him, startled by the slight hitch her voice made. 

He stopped and his hand gave a small twitch at his side. He didn't say anything. 

Of course, she hadn't expected him to. She hadn't expected him to write her a letter to say that he was safe, or that she would gain any indication that he had actually survived, or that she would run in to him again, almost two years later, as she tried to climb over his garden wall without knowing that it was his. Yet it still made her angry. “I—” Leonie started, but she couldn't finish. She couldn't bring herself to say _I mourned you_.

After the silence drew out between them, he turned and looked at her over one shoulder. “I heard about what you did. The story you told the officials.” There was a slight twist of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth, but she didn't share the sentiment. “I appreciate that you left out my real occupation.” 

“I should have told them,” she snapped, and Cabal lifted one hand in indifference. 

“You could have,” he replied, though she wasn't too sure if he was agreeing with her or correcting her. “Now, come along. I wasn't kidding about the bush.” 

Leonie glanced down, suddenly aware that something was slowing wrapping around her right ankle. She frowned at it, giving it a harsh kick that was backed by all her frustration, and shook herself loose. “I shall just climb back over the wall, if it is all the same to you,” she said, and turned back towards the stone wall.

Johannes caught her around the waist, lifting her rather easily and puling her away. “You shall leave by the front gate,” he said, “when I allow you to.” 

Leonie, who was about to start thrashing and struggling to free herself, went still. “When you _allow_ me to?” she repeated. 

“Indeed. I am in the middle of a very time sensitive experiment. But I should like for you to stay.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and the movement added a sinister tinge to his words. 

“What, are you planning on attacking me with your hoards of undead?” she said, her voice breaking in a somewhat hysterical laugh. When he didn't answer, her insides went cold. “Well, are you? _Necromancer_?” 

At this, he snapped. He grabbed her wrist, tight and hard enough to bruise. His hands were cold, and she noticed that he wasn't wearing his gloves. Johannes gave her arm a sharp tug that disrupted her thoughts and practically dragged her along behind him, back up the hill towards the house. 

“Unhand me!” she shrieked, finally allowing herself to feel undignified in front of this man. “Unhand me at once or I shall—I shall—” Leonie struggled to find some sort of threat. “I'll claw your eyes out! I'll become one of those undead that you lot summon up and I shall hunt you down!” 

To her surprise, Cabal chuckled. Yet he remained silent as they arrived at his house, and he opened the side-door that was partially hidden by equally shifty shrubbery. His grip didn't relent until he shoved her into the dark room before him. And when he closed the door, all the light was cut off. 

She could hear her breath echoing harshly off the walls, and there was a strong chill in the air. “Cabal,” she started, reaching out for something – anything – to reassure herself. She could hear the occasional note of what sounded suspiciously like “Aquarium” from _The Carnival of the Animals_ , and did little to alleviate the dread what was sinking in to the pit of her stomach. 

This time, when he caught her hand, it was far more polite. He threaded her arm with his in a gentlemanly fashion and began to guide her through the dark room. “Do you want to know why I became a Necromancer, Miss Barrow?”

Again, the hysterical laugh bubbled from between her lips before she could stop it. “Really, Cabal, is this the time—?”

He pulled open a door and they were confronted with an even darker space. “It is unfortunate that when you met me, I was not at my best.” Johannes took a step, and she realised that there was a set of stairs as her eyes finally started to adjust. 

“Do you ever have a best?” Leonie replied, holding her skirts out of the way as she followed him down. 

“I had sold my soul to Satan in order to learn this science,” he continued as he ignored her barbed comment. “I don't recall if I had told you that or not, or that the purpose behind my gathering of one hundred souls was to get it back. There is one thing, and one thing only, that I want from this knowledge: to learn how to restore the dead to life.” 

She snorted. “Yes, I understand that – that is the base goal for every one of your filthy kind. Are you trying to garner my sympathy?” 

His grip tightened in warning on her arm. “Not in such a base fashion, Miss Barrow,” he snarled, and she could see the anger that was written across his face. “Those amateurs raise brainless zombies in order to gain power. I... I seek to restore a person to his or her full faculties: to raise the dead not as monstrosities, but as fully functioning _humans_.” 

Leonie pulled up short, trying to yank her arm back from his. “That is _mad_ , Cabal. I already despise you enough, don't keep and dragging my opinion of you through the mud like this. When one is dead, one is dead. Isn't it enough that people try to defile that last sacred rite by raising them?” She laughed and gave one more tug, and this time he let her go. “And you speak of wishing to return them back to life as they had been when they departed.” 

“Haven't you ever lost someone, Leonie? Someone that you wanted back more than anything?” His voice took on a tone that she was quite unfamiliar with, and realised that he was quite passionate about the subject at hand. For him, this was something that was _personal_ and she had just insulted his _raison d'être_. 

But that was no reason for him to revive the dead. “There is no possible excuse, Johannes,” she said softly, stepping forward to lay her hand on his arm. “The dead are dead, and you have to accept that they must stay that way.” 

He shook off her hand. “You are wrong, Miss Barrow. I am close – I am this _close_ – to solving that final mystery that is death.” His voice was getting further away, seeming to echo around the room that he had left her standing in. 

Leonie spun on the spot, trying to pin-point the source of his voice, when suddenly a door opened in the back and a bright, white, _clean_ light blinded her. She held her arms up in front of her face, disoriented for a second, as she watched Johannes retreat through the open door. 

“Miss Barrow,” he said by ways of parting with a polite, stiff bow at the waist. Then the door closed behind him and she was left in darkness once more. 

But she had seen something behind him – stretched out on a metal table. Pale. She had seen a hand, a _girl's_ hand. And suddenly everything made sense. 

With a soft noise, Leonie sank to the ground, her legs unable to support her as they trembled. Of all the people – of all the despicable, horrid, ill-mannered people in the world it had to be him. The one she didn't want to feel bad for, didn't want to feel anything for: not sadness, nor sympathy nor pity. 

Yet despite all that, for just a moment, her heart ached for him.


	2. Old Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old stone,  
> Ten thousand years and you're still on your own.  
> Don't you love,  
> Don't you love me that way.
> 
> And if you swear that you're alright  
> I'm not gonna try and change your mind.  
> Because the same night I dream that I lose you  
> I'll fall in love

Leonie remained crouched in the basement for the better part of what must have been a few hours. She had no way to tell the time in the darkness, as her pocket-watch remained with her luggage at the inn and it would have been impossible to read it clearly anyways. Any sounds from the other room were muffled by the door. 

Her legs couldn't even manage the energy to rise back to her feet since Johannes had left her (no, not left her, phrasing it like that made it sound like something it was not). So she remained there. Ignoring the ache in her heart and what might have been tears but she was pretending like they were not. 

So he had someone? All that time, everything he had done, had been for a _girl_. Somehow, the idea that Cabal had a romantic inclination seemed quite foreign. Leonie wondered how long it had been since the girl had died, how she had died, what she looked like, what her name was. She wondered how much he must have loved her, and wondered how much she would still love him when she woke to find that _no you're not dead I bought you back I sacrificed everything to bring you back to me_.

Her heart started to ache again at the thought. And maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of jealousy for this unknown girl – that she had someone who would conquer death for her. And Leonie, nearly twenty-eight, had resigned herself to maidenhood in order to pursue her legal career. 

After some time, the sulking was getting to her and it gave her a new determination. She was a woman of her word, and as she was asked to stay (more like _forced_ ) she would stay. Only her stomach was growling which meant it was at least some time past supper. Seeing as he _still_ had not come out of that mystery room (Leonie hated to think about what Cabal might be doing in there for a various mixture of reasons that she didn't care to pick apart and analyze), she figured it would be all on her to procure some food. 

“Cabal!” she shouted at nothing. “Cabal, you ass! I am going to use your kitchen!” She kicked at a wall and hoped it was the one that he had disappeared through. 

With her hands held out in front of her, Leonie searched blinding for the staircase that they had traveled down, and then continued to run her fingers along it to find a light. She was rewarded with the door handle, and pushed it open to find herself in the room from before. Finding a light switch was considerably easier here, and she flicked it on. 

Blinded for a few seconds, she blinked with her head lowered until her eyes had once again readjusted to the light. She was in the kitchen, conveniently enough. So she squared her shoulders and set about the task of trying to make something to eat. After some blundering about, a sandwich and a pot of tea were prepared and she went in search of a candle. 

Turning on the lights in the hall as she went, Leonie finally located the living room, where several candles were placed in holders on several surfaces. She snagged a simple, Triton-shaped candelabra and next turned her attention to the fireplace. 

She had all but forgotten about the humming until it started up again, just over her head. 

Leonie yelped, jumping a step back and only just managing to keep a grip on her sandwich and her candelabra. Her eyes roamed wildly around the room, trying to find the source of the sound. 

Oddly enough, it seemed to be coming from a long, lidless box on the mantle. 

“I don't even want to know,” she muttered, and fetched a box of matches from where they rested by the coal scuttle and retreated from the room. Her footsteps echoed through the empty hall, met only by the faint strains of what sounded like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star from Hell”. 

She finished off her sandwich and fetched a fresh mug of tea before lighting the candles and descending once again into the darkness of the cellar. Even with the help of the candles, she was still unable to find a light switch. 

There was not all that much clutter in the basement, as she had found in her earlier wanderings. So it was hard to tell just where he might have stored the secret door into the other chamber. Leonie placed the candelabra on one of the boxes and, with her mug warming her hands, paced in a small, slow circle around the center of the room. She studied every arrangement of the chests and boxes and furniture. 

It took a few minutes, and the tea was starting to turn cold by the time she developed a sense of the pattern. Enough of a sense to figure out which wall the door was against. Switching her mug for the candelabra, Leonie headed for the wall in question and began her search for the door and any secret catch that might open it. 

A false wall revealed a short hall to a stone door. It must have been open when Cabal first retreated through it, and the false wall being the only cover. Leonie didn't know if she should feel flattered that he had hurried so in order to come and save her from his shrubbery. He had said he was in the middle of an experiment, _indeed, I am in the middle of a very time sensitive experiment, but I should like for you to stay_. 

An experiment that would bring his beloved back to life, and he had stopped to protect a woman with whom his relationship was _mutual disinterest_ at best. 

Leonie pressed her ear to the stone door, trying to see if there was any noise from the other side. There was only silence, and the soft, muted hum of electric lights. Her searching fingers found the second hidden catch and she stood back as the stone door slid back to reveal the lab. 

Johannes Cabal was on his knees, head bent forward, gripping a slim, pale hand in both of his. He didn't even look up at the sound of the door. She wondered how long he had been like that. 

“Cabal?” she whispered, setting down the candelabra on the floor and taking a few hesitant steps into the room. “Johannes?” 

He twitched at her voice, his grip tightening and his chest heaving as he took a ragged breath. 

A few more hesitant steps took her to his side, and she knelt down. “Johannes, what is the matter?” she reached out and touched his shoulder. 

It took a long time before he was able to answer. “It... it didn't work...” 

She wanted to laugh, and it almost bubbled up in her throat until she swallowed it down again. She wanted to laugh and say _of course it didn't work, Cabal, you shouldn't bring someone back from the dead. You can't bring someone back_. But again, there was the ache in her heart. At the way he sounded so small and defeated. She couldn't see his face, but she could only imagine the expression. 

“There is always next time...?” she ventured, her voice equally small. She felt disgusted at herself for even suggesting it, but there was something in the way his shoulders hunched over that she felt compelled to try and console him. 

He was the one to laugh. “There is no next time for her, Miss Barrow. It was a one-time shot. I've broken the chamber that she had been preserved in. She has been exposed for too long.” He finally looked up, and his face was even paler than usual, his cheeks dark and hollow under the harsh light. His fingers ran gently down her arm. “Look, see, already decay sets in.” 

Sure enough, there were spots on the thin arm under the tips of his fingers. 

Leonie couldn't bring herself to stand, to see what the girl's face looked like. She concentrated instead on Cabal and his face, something familiar at least. “Come back upstairs with me,” she whispered, her hands ghosting over his shoulder. 

Johannes turned to look at her, his eyes going wide as if he had just realised she was there. He opened his mouth to say something, but his voice cracked before he could manage it. 

She shifted closer on the balls of her feet, trying to find some way to grab him and yank him to his feet without having to face the girl on the table. “Come on.” 

“You could help,” he said in a raspy voice, and a chill jolted down her spine. 

“What—?” Leonie started, already moving back and away but he was faster. 

Cabal knocked her over, pinned her to the ground, and grasped her chin with one hand. “ _You_.” His grip tightened as she thrashed beneath him. “I've had some work in souls. She was here, for a moment, just a moment, but her body was too far gone.” His hand, covered in the white surgical gloves, trailed from her chin to her neck and pressed against the spot where he could feel her fluttering pulse beneath his fingertips. 

“Cabal!” she yelped, attempting to thrash again but he had one of her arms gripped in his, and his knees pressed in on her thighs to keep her still. “You can't do this, Cabal. You have to stop!” Leonie was startled to feel the tears on her cheeks, and she knew they weren't from fear for her own situation. “Johannes!” 

This gave him a bit of a start, and he hesitated. 

She lifted up her free hand, touching his cheek in a mimicry of his own caress just seconds before. “Johannes, you have to listen to me...” 

His expression softened, fading into an expression she had never thought possible for his face. He turned his head slightly, and pressed his cheek against the palm of her hand. “I had been so close,” he murmured, and she could feel his lips and his breath against her skin. 

Seeing her chance, Leonie shifted their positions with a strength she hadn't thought possible, flipping them around so she could pin him to the floor and knelt on his back. He grunted in surprise as she held both of his hands behind his back. “I learned some things the last few years,” she told him, breathing hard. “Mostly self-defense, but a bit of stuff from my stint at the police academy.” 

He didn't say anything, merely staring out sightlessly at the floor beneath his face. 

She fretted for a moment, wondering if she had given him a minor concussion when his head hit the ground. Leonie's fingers found his pulse and moved to check his pupils, but then he closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. 

“I need a drink,” he whispered, and she choked out a laugh.

* * *

Cabal was sprawled across his couch, a make-shift bag of ice made out of a dishcloth held again his head and a glass of brandy gripped in his hand. The decanter was on the table next to him. 

Leonie entered the living room carrying a tray with a pot of tea and several biscuits on on a plate. She studied the back of his head for a moment before clearing her throat to announce her presence and proceeding the rest of the way. She took the tumbler from his hand and replaced it with a mug of tea. Then she moved to stoke the fire, added another shovel of coals, then dusted her hands off on her skirt. 

“I—” Johannes started, but he seemed to loose his nerve when she turned to look at him. 

With a soft sigh, she moved back to his side and sat down on the edge of the couch. “How are you feeling?” she asked, leaning over to check the ice pack. 

“I just _failed_ on the one thing I had staked my soul, the last thirteen years, my _entire life_ on,” he spat. “How do you think I feel?” 

A frown tugged at her lips, though she knew better than to let him see it as she kept her face turned from him. “How is your head?” she corrected. 

“I feel like shite all over,” he answered. He startled her by touching her chin. “I hurt you...” 

“It wouldn't be the first time I was victimised by you, Johannes Cabal,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could manage and was satisfied to see him wince. Still, she sat back and fiddled with a spot on her skirt. “I'm sorry it failed,” she finally managed. 

There was a long silence, and she willed herself to look at him. Cabal was watching her, struggling to try and say something but the words wouldn't come. “What time is it?” 

“A little after four in the morning.” She rose to her feet, dusted off her skirt absently, and set her shoulders. “I should go. My train is in a few hours.” Before she could take a step away, his hand caught on to her wrist. 

“Stay the night,” he said, and she wondered if he was even aware of what he was saying. “There is a spare room.” Cabal's eyes were closed, and his face was turned in towards the back of the couch so that his words were muffled. “I don't... Being alone right now...” 

Leonie brushed his hair in a motherly fashion. “Drink your tea,” she ordered, and removed his hand from her wrist. 

“But—I...” Johannes sat up suddenly, eyes wide. Again, his voice failed him. The half-formed sentence ended in a croak and he groaned, settling back into the pillows. 

She tutted and rolled her eyes. “I have to go get my things from the inn. Really, I don't know why I am even listening to you, but the last thing you need to be is alone right now. I need to make sure you don't try to kill yourself or, despite everything, it will weigh on my conscious.” With firm hands, she settled him back onto the couch and, after a pause, sat down on the edge once again. 

He closed his eyes as her hands glanced over his forehead and the lines of his face. “Go to sleep,” she hummed softly. “I will be here when you wake.” She lingered at his side until his breathing slowed, and it was only once she was rising to her feet again did she notice that he had been holding her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was the Decemberists' "Red Right Ankle", shortly followed by inspiration from Laura Marling's "Old Stone". I just generally have painful emotions when listening to those songs now, and I suggest that you do as well.


End file.
